Broken Bones, Broken Spirits
by KaydenStockwell
Summary: Not completed and not likely to be continued but I'll leave it up.
1. Snap!

He had been chasing a criminal and called back to me to hurry up. It had been this unfortunate moment that Holmes had tripped over a pile of spare wood. His foot became caught in between the logs and, though his body continued moving, his leg remained quite firmly in place. I heard the deafening "Snap!" of a breaking bone and the yell of pain as I watched, mere feet behind Holmes. I managed to catch him as he crumpled to the ground.

I hollered over my shoulder at the police to continue after the criminal. As one of the lads passed, I told him to call a cab with room for Holmes's leg. I looked at my friend and saw that his face had gone from pale to colourless. He was going into shock! I gently rolled up his pant leg only to see the offending bone protruding from his shin. It was a nasty break, a clean one, thankfully, though what I had to do next would undoubtedly cause Holmes to lose consciousness. I decided to wait until we returned to Baker Street to snap the bone back into alignment.

Holmes was whimpering, huffing and puffing. "It's all right, old boy. You just squeeze my hand now. The pain will get better soon, I promise." It was a lie, but it was all I could offer, at the moment. I looked over my shoulder and asked what was taking so long. Not long after, a large cab pulled up. I motioned to the officer to help me with Holmes, who, though quite thin, was taller than me, and at the moment, a dead weight.

I looked over at my friend. He was breathing quite shallowly, now. Definitely in shock, I thought. I looked him in the eye, "All right, Holmes, we have to get you bake to Baker Street. I can't do anything for you here. Now, this might be…uncomfortable, but it is necessary."

I glanced at the young man beside me, Officer Filmen, read his nameplate. "We need to get him into that cab. On the count of three, you're going to get his left side, and for God's sake, make sure he doesn't have ANY weight on his left leg. Okay?"

The man nodded and I counted to three. Together, we lifted Holmes up. He gasped, briefly spasmed from the pain, and passed out. Well, this might be for the best, I thought. Filmen and I got Holmes to the safety of the cabbie and I instructed the driver to head towards 221B Baker Street, double time.

We arrived twenty minutes later with Holmes beginning to swim towards consciousness. I called Mrs. Hudson and we helped him in. We set him in the basket chair. I told Mrs. Hudson to light a fire, get some blankets, and fetch some kind of strong alcohol. While she was gone, I fished Holmes's injection kit from his jacket pocket and filled the syringe with morphine. Though I did not approve of his recreational use of the drug, in this case, it could do little harm. I jabbed his shoulder with the needle just as our landlady returned with the previously mentioned items. She set a glass of brandy on the mantle, laid the blankets on the floor near me, and proceeded to light a fire.

"Is there anything else I can do, Doctor?" she asked in a concerned voice.

"No, I think not, Mrs. Hudson." As she turned to leave, I suddenly remembered. "Oh, could you possible find a piece of old cloth? He'll need something to bite on when I set the bone." She shuddered, but nodded.

When she returned, Holmes had come back round. I looked at him sorrowfully, knowing that this would be most excruciatingly painful. I told him that his leg was plainly broken and needed to be set, else he have a crooked leg for the rest of his life. He did not react, so I knew that he did not comprehend. I took the piece of cloth that Mrs. Hudson had left on the floor and put in his mouth, telling him to bite down, hard. I told him to take deep breathes through his nose and to relax as much as possible. He did and I grasped his leg firmly above and below the break and Holmes shuddered, violently. Without warning, I pulled with all my might and felt the bone slide back into its natural position. As I did so, Holmes screamed a bloodcurdling cry of agony.

Once again passed out, I began sewing up the wound left by the previously protruding bone. Now set, the bone could wait a few minutes before I would have to begin the plastering process. I finished the stitching and returned the medical tools to my bag. I walked to the washroom for smelling salts, returned, and held them under my poor friend's nose. He coughed and came to, though reluctantly. He immediately grimaced and reached for his broken leg. I slapped his hand and said "Ah Ah, Holmes. I've set it and now I need to cast it now."

He groaned, replaced the cloth in his mouth, and shifted to a more comfortable position. I had a cast kit in my medical bag thankfully. I removed it and placed it beside me, on the floor; I carefully rolled up Holmes's pant leg and removed his shoe and sock. I set them aside and then began to lightly rape his leg in the plaster. I told him to let me know if it became too tight. He grunted his acknowledgement and winced. I wrapped upwards, from his toes to just below his knee. Eventually, It became satisfactorily thick and I let it alone to harden over the next three days. I told Holmes "Now, no poking and prodding it, no bathing, and, for God's sake, I do not, under ANY circumstance, want to see you walking. Do I make myself plain?"

"Crystal," he responded, curtly. I sighed, and called our landlady in to make sure that Holmes followed my instructions. Before I left to get a few things, I pulled Mrs. Hudson aside and said "Now, he is to either be in a chair, or in bed. Until I can obtain some crutches, you will need to help him move between the two. He will probably sleep for the remainder of the day, but with him, you can never be sure. Make sure he eats something and wake him every few hours to drink. If he is in too much pain, give him a shot of morphine, the container is on the mantel. Give him 1cc. I should be back for supper. Have someone get me if something happens; I'll be at the hospital."


	2. Detective Heal Thyself

I left our lodging, called for a cabbie and set off for the hospital. There, I acquired a pair of aluminium crutches, some pain medication other than morphine, for I did not want to nurse Holmes's addiction, and some extra large socks, should my friends exposed toes become chilly. I then ventured to the hospital's book shoppe to purchase some texts for Holmes's to occupy himself with. I ended up with three titles, all involving particularly complex and realistic mysteries. I hailed a cart and returned to 221B near six in the evening. I entered and found Holmes, still in the basket chair, now covered in blankets and sweating profusely.

I felt bad for the poor fellow. He would be laid up for weeks, with a break like that. I then began to feel sorry for myself; I would be stuck with his whining for at least a month, if not two. Still, he was my friend, and I his, therefore, it was my job to care for him. I set my packages by the door, relieved Mrs. Hudson, who was reading in the settee, and gently shook Holmes's shoulder. He woke and looked up at me, his eyes full of pain.

"Holmes, I have some medicine for you and I want you to take it. It will make you feel better. He nodded and accepted the two pills. After swallowing them, I walked to the door, retrieved the aluminium crutches and returned to the basket chair. "It's best if you start moving as soon as possible. I know that this is the last thing you want to do right now, but I must insist."

He groaned, but nodded. I demonstrated how to use the things and he then tried it himself. I stayed right behind him, should he fall. With his cast still drying, I did not trust it to cushion his leg should he trip. I managed to relocate him the table and rang for Mrs. Hudson. She entered, cast a pitying eye upon Holmes, and asked what we should like for supper. Holmes said he wasn't hungry, but I said he had to eat something. We bickered for a few moments and eventually decided on ham sandwiches. She obliged and returned within ten minutes.

I ate my food with gusto, while Holmes merely moved his around his plate. I knew that he would not be hungry, but I wanted him to heal as fast as possible, and he was not going to do that on an empty stomach. I finally convinced him to eat a few bites, but eventually, I gave up and helped him hobble back to his favorite chair by the fire.

I showed him the books that I had bought, but he showed little enthusiasm. He then explained "My dear Watson, I am grateful for all that you have done today, but at the moment, I am quite tuckered out. Reading is not high on my 'To Do' list."

I nodded and proceeded to ask if he would like to retire. He thought for a moment, and nodded. I helped him up and together we went to his room. There, I assessed how much pain he was in. I could tell that the pain medicine was beginning to wear off, for he was becoming restless. I decided to give him another shot of morphine, in hopes it would make sleep more bearable. I helped him onto the bed and returned to the sitting room to get the syringe and drug. When I returned, I decided to inject the narcotic into his spine where it would travel to the leg faster. I told him to roll over and hold still. I tapped the syringe to rid it of bubbles, took aim, and jabbed it into his spine. Holmes groaned, but did not shift, so I could release the medicine.

After placing his leg on a pillow, in hopes of decreasing the swelling, I made sure that Holmes was covered and had water within reach. I told him if he should need anything to call, as I would be sleeping on the settee and not to get up without me there. I didn't get a response as Holmes appeared to have dropped off before the blankets had engulfed his tall, thin body. I took the morphine back to the sitting room and made myself comfortable. I grabbed my journal and continued on with the writing of "Silver Blaze," our most recently completed case. After a few hours, I put my pen up for the night and settled into a deep sleep.


	3. The Longest Month Begins

**AN: I know that so far this story is lacking much Holmes dialog, but I feel that while he is in pain and laid up, Holmes would be quieter and more sulky. I promise to get a good conversation in the next chapter or two. Oh and for those of you who saw my spelling error last chapter, I apologize profusely and thank you for pointing it out. It has been fixed.**

* * *

The next morning around eight, I awoke. I got up, stretched, and looked down only to realize that I was still attired in my clothes. I had forgotten to change into my night gown! I immediately went to my room and changed into it for two reasons: one, so I would not smell, and two, so I would be comfortable while nursing Holmes back to health. I then enter his room and found him wide awake, gritting his teeth.

"Holmes," said I, "if you continue on like that, you'll add a tooth ache to your list of pain." He gave me the 'evil eye' and I frowned. "All joking aside, old chap, how is your leg? That was a nasty fall that you took. Do you remember anything of yesterday?"

He thought for a moment and replied "Erm, I remember the morning and the first half of the afternoon. I recall chasing someone and then a good deal of pain. There are flashes, but not enough to put anything together. Am I correct in assuming that I have broken my leg?"

"Yes, you are quite correct, Holmes, as usual. Quite a break, indeed. Snapped clean in two. I'm not surprised that you don't remember much. That much pain cane do funny thing to none's memory."

"Speaking of pain, Watson…"

"Oh! Right. Yes, I'll go fetch some of the medicine from hospital. It's just as good as morphine, without the risks." I went to fetch the pills and returned to Holmes attempting to sit up! I tossed the bottle onto the bed and rushed to my friend's side to help him. We managed a standing position, with him balancing on his good leg while I got the crutches. I handed them to him and muscle memory kicked in. He began maneuvering towards the sitting room. I followed him and made sure he reached the basket chair without incident.

After he was settled, I called for Mrs. Hudson who lite the fire, and took our orders for breakfast. I then returned to Holmes's bedroom and retrieved the pills. I handed two to him and he then dry swallowed them. I looked at Holmes and noted that he also was still in his old clothes.

"Since you're likely to be cooped up for a while, Holmes, would you prefer to change into your night gown?" I asked.

He nodded and I helped him into my room, as it was closer. I then fetched his blue gown from his closet. He removed his shirt without hindrance but was at a loss as to how to remove his trousers. His cast was to fat to remove them the traditional way. I thought for a while and finally decided that we would have to cut him out of them. I grabbed the scissors lying on my desk and apologized for ruining his favorite pair of trousers. I began at the opening of the left leg and worker my way up to the waist. The pants were then able to be removed and his night gown slipped on.

We returned to the sitting room to find Mrs. Hudson waiting for us. She held tow plates, mine contained eggs and toast and Holmes's had hash browns and ketchup. Surprisingly, Holmes appetite had actually improved instead of decreasing, as most people did after suffering an injury. He went through two helpings of potatoes in less than ten minutes and would have continued on to a third had I not stopped him.

* * *

Later that day, I had convinced Holmes to come talk a walk with me, though he grumbled and made it quite plainly known that he was perfectly happy to read in his basket chair for the remainder of the day.

"Holmes," said I "I understand that you want to sit there and sulk, but I must insist that you get moving. I want you to get used to going places with those crutches. I don't want you falling and breaking something significantly more important, like you brain."

He glared at me, but reached for his crutches and stood up. Walking around our flat was one thing, but maneuvering in the hustle and bustle of London was quite another. I decided that we could go look at the shops for a new magnifying glass, as my dear, clumsy friend had managed to break his third one this MONTH. I grabbed my coat and helped Holmes to balance while he adorned his and then we were off.

"Mrs. Hudson, we'll be back for supper!" I yelled over my shoulder so our our landlady wouldn't worry. We got down the seventeen steps and were at last out onto Baker Street. I, after being cooped up with a restless, cranky Holmes for nearly an entire day, was exuberant to be out of the confined space. "Come on, old boy, I say we should go get you a new toy. Give you something to mess about with, eh?" I elbowed him playfully, momentarily forgetting that his center of balance had yet to be permanently established. He swayed for a few moments and seemed to steady himself and sent an annoyed glance my way. I could tell that a sharp remark was about to exit his thin lips. I internally grimaced; this was going to be a LONG month.


End file.
